


Together

by prepare4trouble



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: A whole lot of angst, AU of an AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Kanan Jarrus, Blindness, Dokma Racing, Gen, Happy-ish anyway, Set both pre and post Malachor, Sith Holocron, The Dark Side of the Force, Visually Impaired Ezra Bridger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-01-07 00:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prepare4trouble/pseuds/prepare4trouble
Summary: When Ezra finds out that he is going blind. He and Kanan try to cope, both before and after the events on Malachor.(This story is an AU of my existing AU,Little By Little, but can be read on its own)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that I’ve been playing around with for some time now. Not quite as long as I’ve been writing Little By Little, but almost. I was wondering what would have happened in the AU if things had played out a little differently. What if Ezra had told Kanan about his sight earlier? What if he had told him before Malachor; before Kanan was blinded?
> 
> The story will be told in a series of short(ish) chapters. This first one is one that happened in the original AU, but one thing being different here means the outcome of the whole story will change.

There was no reason to be nervous. None at all. But Ezra couldn’t stop the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he fidgeted with the blindfold, running it between his fingers and feeling the texture of the fabric. He was being ridiculous. All he was going to do was walk around his quarters; the room that he had called home for the better part of two years. It wasn’t going to be difficult.

The door was locked, so there was no danger of anybody walking in on him. The worst thing that was going to happen was that Zeb would try to open the door and get mad that he was locked out for a few seconds while Ezra took off the blindfold and let him in.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and covered them. He tied the strip of fabric loosely at the back of his head and stood still for a moment, remembering the layout of the room.

He was standing next to the bunks with his back pressed against them. Directly in front of him was an open space between him and the wall at the other side. He had deliberately cleared the floor of any obstacles for this first trial run. He reached out into the Force in an attempt to sense the space around him. It didn’t help much; it was difficult to tell whether he was really sensing the room, or just remembering it. 

“Here goes,” he whispered to himself, and stepped forward.

A hand rose unbidden to hover in the air in front of him, searching for obstacles that he knew weren’t there. He took another step, and resisted the urge to feel for the bunk behind him with his other hand. He was probably too far from it to reach now anyway. Or was he?

A slight wave, a ripple, of disorientation hit him. He didn’t know exactly where in the room he was. He didn’t know how much further he needed to go to get to the other side, or how far it was to get back.

He stopped, stood still, and took a moment to think. He was in his own quarters. He couldn't get lost here if he tried, and even if he did find that he genuinely couldn’t work out where he was, he could remove the blindfold.

But that wouldn’t always be the case. One day he would be somewhere unfamiliar, or somewhere new. One day, he wouldn’t be able to take the blindfold off.

That thought provoked a kind of claustrophobic panic that he tried to push aside. He took another step, and another, both hands reaching out in front of him now, searching frantically for the wall at the other side of the room and not finding it. He was sure he should be there by now, so either he was taking smaller steps than usual, or he had set off at an angle without realizing it, and was walking a longer route than he had planned.

Finally, his fingers brushed the wall on the other side of the room, and he felt himself release some of the tension he had been carrying. He exhaled slowly, leaned hard against the wall and sank down to sit on the floor. He pulled off the blindfold and rubbed a trembling hand over his face.

All he had done was walk across his own room, it shouldn't have been that nerve-wracking. It _wouldn’t_ have been, except for that it wasn’t the trip across the room that had made him panic. It was the thought of doing it again. Every day. Everywhere.

It felt impossible, but he had no choice. Maybe it would get easier with time.

The only thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t do it on his own. Maybe he couldn’t do it at all, but definitely not without help. As soon as he told them, everything was going to change, but he _needed_ someone else to know. He had been waiting for the perfect moment to tell them, knowing that it was never going to come.

He couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time.


	2. Chapter 2

The lounge felt small with the six of them crowded in there at the same time. Ezra looked around and wondered, not for the first time, whether telling them together like this had been a mistake. Maybe it would have been easier to do it one or two at a time.

No, he decided. It probably wouldn’t help. At least this way it would be over with quickly. The conversation would be hard enough once, he wasn't going to be in a hurry to repeat the experience.

It was too late to change his mind anyway, everyone was here.

Kanan, Hera and Sabine were seated on the curved bench around the edge of the holotable, while Ezra took one of the stools and Zeb sat in his larger chair. Chopper lurked around the periphery, moving around occasionally, a few meters in one direction and then another, like he was trying to find the best place to watch the show.

“Okay kid, you got us all here,” Zeb said. “So, you want to tell us what’s so important we all had to drop everything and meet you here?”

He had never asked them to drop everything. In fact, he had explicitly stated that he _didn’t_ want that, and that he just wanted to know when would be a good time to tell them something. It had been Hera, probably sensing that something was wrong, who had insisted that right now was as good a time as any.

The answer to Zeb’s question was no. He didn’t want to tell them. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do. He was going to do it anyway, because he owed it to them to tell them the truth.

As he drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, Kanan and Hera exchanged a worried glance. Even if he wanted to back out, he wouldn’t be able to. They knew something was wrong and they wouldn’t let him get away with leaving before he told them what it was.

He stood up. He had planned to be sitting for this, convinced that if he was on his feet, he might seize the opportunity to flee before he managed to get out the words that he needed to say. Now that it came to it, he realized that he needed to be standing. He needed to move around, to release the nervous energy in some way. Otherwise he _would_ run, he could feel it.

He took a few steps away from the table, stopped and turned back.

“Ezra,” Hera began. “Whatever it is, we’ll…”

“I’m going blind,” he blurted, cutting her off before she could make a promise she might not be able to keep.

A shocked silence fell over the room. Ezra realized that he was shaking from the surge of adrenaline had rushed through his body as he had finally uttered the words. He sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t know whether to run, or to sit down before he fell. 

Ezra figured he had maybe a couple of seconds before they recovered from his revelation. A few short seconds before they showered him with questions that he didn’t know how to answer. 

“I’m sorry,” he told them. “I didn’t know. Not until…”

He wasn’t sure exactly when he had figured out what was wrong. It hadn’t been the night he had realized he was the only one who couldn’t see the stars from the surface of a planet, or the day a medic asking him about his family medical history had helped him dredge up the memory of some syndrome whose name he couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been the night, lying in bed, when he had first realized he couldn’t see anything at all with the light out, or the day Chopper had switched off the lights while they were doing repairs and Ezra had found himself completely unable to see in a room he knew was partially illuminated. It hadn’t been the bruises he kept finding on his arms and legs from the times he had bumped into things as he walked past them.

It hadn’t even been the night he had stayed up late reading about Sacul Syndrome in a misguided attempt to reassure himself that he didn’t have it.

It hadn’t been any of those things, but at the same time it had been all of them. It had been a slow process of discoveries until one day everything had clicked into place and he had just known it was true.

Someone touched his shoulder from behind and Ezra flinched in surprise. He spun around to see Kanan right behind him. He hadn’t seem him get up or move. That was nothing to do with his sight, he had been deliberately looking in the other direction to avoid seeing their reaction. It hadn’t helped. He had still felt the wave of confusion, shock, and disbelief through the Force.

“You’re sure?” Kanan asked.

Ezra looked at the ground. “Yeah. As I can be.”

Hera was on her feet now too, Sabine and Zeb exchanged a glance across the table that Ezra couldn’t read.

“How sure is that?” Hera asked. “What is it? Is it something we can…”

Ezra shook his head. He didn’t have the words to explain it. He had, moments earlier. The whole thing had been carefully planned out in his mind, and he had imagined exactly how the conversation would go. He had been wrong. He hadn’t been prepared for it to be so hard.

“I’m sorry.” He backed away a few steps, then turned and bolted.


	3. Chapter 3

“Okay,” Kanan said. He looked at Ezra expectantly. “Tell me.”

Ezra sat down on the edge of Kanan’s bunk, slumped forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

Kanan had caught up to him in the hall and half-dragged him into his quarters before Ezra could get away. He was grateful, in a way. At least he would be spared the awkwardness of trying to hide in his own room only to have Zeb crash the pity party, or the completely different kind of awkwardness of trying to squeeze his larger-than-it-used-to-be frame into the ventilation ducts to avoid everyone for a while.

Of course, Kanan hadn’t brought him here because it was a better place to hide; he wanted answers, and if Ezra wanted to stay, he was probably going to have to provide them. He supposed that at least answering questions from just Kanan was preferable to answering them from four or five directions at once.

“What is it?” Kanan asked. “What’s causing… Why… How…” he stopped, giving up, and obviously hoping that Ezra would take pity on him and give him an answer before he had worked out how to form a question.

Ezra didn’t reply. He wanted to, he just didn’t know what to say.

Finally, Kanan sat down next to Ezra on the edge of the bunk. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me,” he said.

He couldn’t help anyway. It wouldn't make any difference what Ezra did, or didn’t, say. But the secret was already out, there would be no point in withholding information now. He drew in a deep breath, held it in his lungs for a count of ten, then exhaled slowly through pursed lips, trying to release his feelings into the Force as he did.

“It’s called Sacul Syndrome,” he began. “It’s genetic. It’s… My family…” He felt his breath hitch. and he blinked rapidly hoping to banish the tears that were starting to burn his eyes. He refused to cry. “It’s a long story,” he said. It wasn’t. Not really. But for him, right now, the act of telling it would be impossible.

“How long have you known?” Kanan asked. “When did you find out? _How_ did you find out? We haven’t been anywhere near a medical facility in months.”

Ezra raised a hand to his cheek and felt the two scars there with the tips of his fingers. The last time they had been anywhere near a medical facility, it had been aboard a Rebellion ship, and he had been having the wounds checked by a medic. He hadn’t known then. It had started, but he hadn’t known.

Ezra shook his head. “I just know,” he said. “Trust me, I’ve tried to think of another explanation. Nothing else fits.”

The syndrome ran in his family, he knew that already. And while it usually didn’t cause any symptoms until middle age, it turned out there was an early onset version. Rare enough that it had been nothing but a footnote in the information he had read, but it worked more quickly than the adult version. While it had probably taken his aunt twenty years or more to lose her sight, he would be blind in less than five. And that was the optimistic estimate.

Kanan didn’t say anything. Ezra could tell that he wanted to argue, to tell him that if he didn’t know for sure then he could be wrong, but he thankfully resisted the urge. Ezra doubted that this would be the last he heard on the subject, but for now he was simply glad not to be being quizzed.

There was one other thing that he needed to say. He didn’t want to say it, but it would grow more difficult the longer he left it. He took another deep breath. “I understand if you don’t want to train me anymore,” he said. He was pleased to hear that his voice sounded almost calm.

Kanan turned and looked at him with a shocked expression on his face. “Why would you say that?”

Ezra tried to reply, but couldn’t. He shook his head wordlessly. The answer to Kanan’s question was obvious. What use was he going to be as a Jedi a few years from now? Why waste the time and effort?

Kanan’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him closer. “Hey,” he said. “I’m not going to stop training you. Do you really think I’m going to let you get out of it that easily?”

“But…” Ezra began.”

“We’re going to figure this out,” Kanan told him. “There must be some way to fix it, and even if there isn’t…”

“There isn’t,” Ezra told him. It was the first thing he had tried to find out when he had learned about the syndrome. There was no treatment, no cure. It didn’t exist.

Kanan nodded like he had expected that. He probably had. Ezra would have mentioned it before now if it had been a possibility. He fell into thoughtful silence for a moment.

“ _If_ there isn’t, it’s still going to be alright,” he said.

Ezra shook his head. “How?”

“Because there were Jedi at the Temple who were blind.”

Ezra sucked in another breath, then tore his gaze away from his feet and looked at Kanan, searching his expression.

“Not just at the Temple,” Kanan clarified. “They were a part of the war effort. They were warriors and teachers, and they were among the most powerful Jedi Masters. I don’t know _how_ they did it, but I know that they did. Not being able to see didn’t slow them down. In fact, I think it may even have made their connection to the Force stronger.”

Ezra brushed away the tears that had filled his eyes. He tried to rearrange his expression into a smile that he didn’t feel. “Wait, so, you’re trying to tell me this is a _good_ thing?”

Kanan wasn’t saying that of course, and Ezra knew it. But maybe, just maybe, he was telling him that it wasn’t hopeless.


	4. Chapter 4

“This isn’t working,” Ezra said. They had been repeating variations on the same exercise for what felt like hours and he just couldn’t make the Force do what he wanted it to.

“It will,” Kanan insisted.

But he was wrong. Ezra wasn’t any closer now to being able to see with the Force than he had been at the beginning of the lesson, and now all he wanted to do was scream. Or cry. Or possibly both at the same time. He opened his eyes and shook his head. “It won’t, Kanan. It’s not even _starting_ to work.”

Kanan frowned. “Maybe you should wear a blindfold,” he said. “It’d make it more difficult for you to open your eyes every time you got frustrated.”

“That’s not the problem!” Ezra told him.

“I know, but it’s _a_ problem. You’re never going to get it if you stop and open your eyes every time you don’t get instant results.”

Kanan didn’t get it. Kanan _couldn’t_ get it.

“Remember the first time you tried to make a connection through the Force to another creature?” Kanan said. “You didn’t get _that_ the first time either. Or the second. But then you did, and now you’re probably better at it than I am.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Because he’d always been good at making connections. It was one of the things that had kept him alive for so long on the streets of Lothal. Using the Force had been an extension of that. It had taken him a little while to realize that, but as soon as he had, it had come naturally to him. “It just is,” he said.

Kanan looked unconvinced. “Just, let’s try it with a blindfold. Okay?”

He didn’t want to. Even the thought of it provoked an irrational claustrophobic feeling of being trapped. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he had covered his eyes, and he could take it off if he needed to. And Kanan was right, he did open his eyes a lot, even when he didn’t mean to. It would stop that. He nodded his reluctant agreement. “But can we take a break first?” he asked. “We’ve been doing this for ages.”

“We’ve been doing it for about a half hour,” Kanan corrected. “But yeah, I think a break’s a good idea.”

Relieved, Ezra leaned hard against the wall and let his back slide down until he was sitting on the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest and let his head fall back until it hit the wall gently.

“You’ll get it,” Kanan told him.

Kanan genuinely appeared to believe that. Ezra looked at him. “Can _you_ do it?” he asked.

Kanan looked thoughtful before he answered. “No,” he said. “Not completely. But I’ve been trying it. I wouldn't ask you to do it if I hadn’t. I can get a rudimentary understanding of what’s around me, it’s not much, but right now that’s all we’re aiming for. We can work on the rest later.”

Ezra sighed. He knew Kanan was right, but it didn’t help. He wanted it all, and he wanted it right now, so that he didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

“You’ve done it before,” Kanan added. “It isn’t completely new to either of us. Remember the dust storm, on the planet where we found Rex and the other clones?”

Ezra nodded. Of course he remembered it.

“I directed us where we needed to go, you manned the gun. You took out an Imperial Walker, if I remember right. You and I were the only ones that could see out there, and we did it using the Force.”

“That wasn’t seeing.”

Kanan nodded. “Not technically. And this won’t be either. But imagine what might be possible if you could develop that sense. I think that’s the key. It _won’t_ be seeing, not in the traditional way. It’s going to be about finding a new way to experience the world.”

A new way. Ezra closed his eyes and tried to imagine what Kanan was describing to him. Kanan was right, he had done it before, and not only that one time. But every time it had been in a life-or-death situation, and it had come in short bursts; seconds where the Force stepped in to tell him something that he needed to know. He didn’t control it, and he didn’t know if he could.

He also couldn’t control the stab of disappointment. Until recently, he had come close to accepting that he was going to lose his sight. There was nothing that he could do about it, and so he had resigned himself to it. But then Kanan had spoken of blind Jedi, and it had awoken a hope in him that there might be some forgotten Force technique that they could rediscover. Something that would truly replace his sight.

The idea that it was something he had done before, and something that had been nothing at all like sight, was both encouraging and frustrating. Encouraging because the idea of having to develop a technique that even Kanan didn’t know had been daunting to say the least, and frustrating because what he was being offered was so much less than he had hoped for.

“We just need to learn how to hone that sense,” Kanan said. “Make it work for smaller, everyday things, not just life or death situations, and make it work all the time. We need to know how to keep it switched on, keep concentrating, keep open to the Force.”

We. Kanan kept saying ‘we’, like he needed to know it too. He might be trying to teach it, but he didn’t need it. Not like Ezra did. He would never understand what it was _like_ to need it.

What he was suggesting sounded exhausting. Not only that, but it sounded impossible. Ezra reached out into the Force, eyes still closed, trying to use it to sense anything at all. He was greeted by a void, empty and meaningless. He could sense the Force, but nothing beyond that. No understanding of the world around him.

“I know how it sounds,” Kanan told him.

“Impossible, you mean?”

“No, difficult. But like I said, you’ve…”

“Done it before. Yeah, I know.” Ezra shook his head. Still nothing. He was getting nothing at all. He clenched his hands into fists and tried to make the Force do as he wanted. It refused. “That was different.”

“I know,” Kanan told him. “But not completely different. You’ve trained blindfolded or with your eyes closed before now too. That got easier, didn’t it?”

The first time, he had fallen off the ship. It couldn’t have gotten much worse than that. Kanan was right, the more he had done it, the easier it had become. But they hadn’t done it regularly, and it had only been for lightsaber practice, not for walking around. And it had ceased to feel easy the moment Ezra had begun to realize there was something wrong with his eyes.

Taking his silence for agreement, Kanan continued. “This might not be the full answer, but for now it’s what we’ve got. If nothing else, it’s a place where we can start.”

‘We’ again.

Ezra glared at Kanan as the frustration built up inside him until he felt ready to scream. “Stop saying that!” he snapped. “It’s not ‘we’. The last time I checked, you could see just fine. It’s not ‘we’. It’s… just me.”

His anger and frustration dissipated as he finished speaking, replaced by a sense of loneliness; isolation. It _was_ just him. He was alone in this. Kanan could try to help, but he couldn’t understand. Not really. Maybe if _his_ eyes stopped working, he’d be motivated to come up with something that would work.

No. Ezra shook his head as though he could undo the thought. He shouldn’t even think that. It wasn’t fair. Kanan was trying to help him, and probably doing a better job of it than anyone else could.

“Okay,” Kanan agreed. “You. But _we_ ‘re going to figure this out, okay? We’re going to do it together.”

Ezra forced out a puff of breath and leaned his head back against the wall. “Yeah, okay. Sorry,” he said, apologizing more for the thing he had thought, than for what he had said.

“Don’t be,” Kanan told him. “You’re right.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random fact, this is actually where Little By Little begins, a different version of this same scene.

Kanan was going to be okay.

Kanan _was_ going to be okay.

Ezra repeated the words over and over in his head like a mantra, as though if he wished for it hard enough; if he thought it enough times, it would be true.

It had to be true.

He crossed the room in a few steps, stopped at the wall, turned, walked back again, and repeated. His quarters hadn’t been built with pacing in mind. He didn’t suppose anywhere had been, but his quarters in particular were far from ideal; they were too small, there was no opportunity to get going before you were stopped and had to change direction.

That wasn’t going to stop him from trying, because the alternative was to sit down, and if he did that, his exhaustion might force him to sleep. He couldn't sleep. Not before he knew for certain.

As soon as they had arrived back at the new base, Hera had bundled Kanan off to the newly constructed medical centre for treatment. Ezra had watched his slow, halting progress as she led him across the uneven ground, and felt his heart sink into his stomach.

Kanan couldn’t see. The lightsaber burn cut right across his face; right across his eyes. There was no way a strike like that had been accidental. Maul had targeted his sight, either planning to finish Kanan off when he couldn’t fight, or to leave him for dead, Ezra didn’t know. He felt a surge of anger at the thought. He had trusted Maul, and he had betrayed him, and now Kanan was…

Fine. Kanan was going to be fine. Maybe he’d have a scar that would remind him of the incident every time he looked in the mirror, the way Ezra’s did, but nothing else.

Ezra had tried to go with them to the medical center, but Hera had sent him away, ordered him to rest until they had news. She had no idea how impossible a task she had given him.

He reached the wall again and changed direction. He tried not to think about what had happened. He tried not to think about Ahsoka. He tried not to think about how Kanan’s face had looked under the mask when he had finally removed it, or about the pained sound he had made when he had allowed Ezra, with trembling hands, to cover the wound with a bandage from the medkit. 

He tried not to think about the lie he had told Kanan when he had hesitantly asked how it looked, and he definitely tried not to think about the smell of burning flesh that he knew he was never going to be able to forget.

He tried not to think about it, but his mind rebelled, playing the memories over and over until he could think of nothing else. He tried to push the thoughts aside, concentrating on the action of putting one foot in front of the other.

Kanan was going to be okay.

The Rebellion had resources. Nothing like the Empire had, of course, but it wasn’t just the six of them on the Ghost anymore. They had a base now. They had connections; medics, experts, people that would be able to help.

He couldn’t remember ever being this tired. It felt as though every cell of his body was screaming out to him, begging him to stop, to close his eyes and rest. He didn’t even know when he had last slept, or eaten. Before they had arrived on Malachor, definitely, but he didn’t even know how long they had been on the planet, and then there had been the long journey home, and however long he had been here, pacing, waiting for news.

A fresh wave of tears blurred his vision and he brushed them angrily away.

Kanan was going to be okay.

The stench of Malachor clung to him. It had sunk deep into the fabric of his clothing, and settled between the strands of his hair. His skin felt filthy with it, as though he was coated with a layer of grime. He wanted — needed — it gone. Before he finally did allow himself to sleep, he longed to climb into the shower and scrub himself until he was red raw, banishing every particle of that Force-forsaken place down the drain.

But not yet. He needed to be here. He needed to wait. If Hera came with news and he wasn’t there, he would never forgive himself. He needed to know that Kanan was okay. Then, and only then, would he be able to look after himself.

Because Kanan _would_ be okay.

He had to be.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun beat down hard onto the desert-like surface of Atollon. Ezra stood alone in a shaded area. All around him, the base continued to take shape. In the short time that they had been there, structures had begun to spring up around them, and claims were being staked on various areas within the protective barrier of beacons that held the krykna at bay.

He didn’t care right now. There were more important things on his mind.

Despite standing as still and quiet as he could, attempting to blend into the shadow cast by a rock formation, Hera saw him. She acknowledged his presence with a quick glance, making eye contact for just long enough to tell him that he had been noticed, before she turned her full attention back to Kanan.

Kanan walked behind her and a little to her side. His left hand gripped her right arm just above the elbow as she led him from the newly constructed medical center back to the Ghost. His free right hand reached out ahead of him, hovering around waist-height with fingers splayed, searching for any obstacles that might be in his way.

Most of the upper part of Kanan’s face was covered by a thick bandage, a heavier duty one than Ezra had used to cover the wound during the journey home.

It seemed too soon for Kanan to be going home. Ezra hadn’t expected it. He had gone outside for a change of scenery, needing to look at something other than the walls of his quarters for a while, but this hadn’t been what he had in mind. He didn’t want to watch, but moving would only draw attention to himself, and for some reason he couldn’t make himself look away.

He didn’t know whether it was a good sign that Kanan was going home, or a bad one. Had the med droid treated him, then sent him away because he would be fine once the bandages came off, or was he being released because there was nothing more that could be done? There had been no news, nothing beyond platitudes and vague assurances.

There was still a chance that Kanan would be okay. Ezra hadn’t asked, and he wasn’t going to ask. Until someone told him differently, there was still a chance.

He found his gaze focussing on Kanan’s hand as it searched the air ahead of him like he thought he might walk into something. Ezra swallowed hard. He did the same thing himself, both in training with Kanan and when practicing alone. Kanan had picked him up on it once or twice; told him that he needed to focus on what he could learn through the Force rather than feeling for obstacles with his hands.

Kanan wouldn’t walk into anything of course. Hera wouldn't allow it. But it wasn’t that easy to trust, whether it was trusting the Force, his own memory of the layout of a room, or even another person. No matter how hard he tried not to, Ezra hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching out uncertainly into the unknown. 

He had never tried to walk around outside without sight. There hadn’t been many opportunities before they had founded the base, and even if there had, he wouldn’t have been ready. He knew that one day he would have no choice, but until now, he hadn't even considered the idea. Now, watching Kanan, he couldn’t stop. There were no walls to ground himself, no familiar objects that he could use as landmarks. There was nothing but open space, the ground beneath his feet, and the Force. Even being led as Kanan was — _especially_ being led — the thought was frightening.

Hera looked exhausted, as though she was carrying the weight of the world. She walked slowly enough for Kanan to take his time, turning her head to check on him every few steps, whispering quiet words of encouragement that Ezra couldn’t catch.

As Ezra continued to watch, Kanan stumbled on an unexpected dip in the ground that Hera hadn’t noticed. Ezra tensed, caught between the urge to run to him and help, and the equally strong desire for Kanan not to know that he was there. Cowardice won out. He winced in sympathy and stayed where he was.

Kanan and Hera both stopped while Kanan took a moment to right himself, brushing off Hera’s attempt to help. Ezra watched his chest expand as he took a deep breath, reaching for calm. It was impossible to tell whether he managed to find it before he nodded and muttered some assurance to Hera. The two of them set off again, making their slow, careful way onto the Ghost, Hera’s eyes now firmly on the ground directly in front of Kanan’s feet.

Ezra suppressed a stab of anger and hopelessness. Kanan might still recover, but he might not. He… probably wouldn’t. This hadn’t been supposed to happen. This was supposed to be Ezra’s future, not Kanan’s.

Had he _done_ this?

The thought had plagued him since their return, starting as a stray thread of doubt, growing and expanding until it filled his mind with guilt and shame. In moments of weakness, Ezra had wished that he wasn’t alone. He had wished that someone else could understand what he was going through.

He hadn’t meant _this_.

He hadn’t meant anything, not really.

He wasn’t naive enough to genuinely believe that a stray thought could do this — if he could control the universe with a thought, he would have healed Kanan a hundred times over by now — but he hated that he had thought it. Worse, he hated that when the idea had drifted into his mind, he hadn’t instantly pushed it aside in disgust. Sometimes, he had followed it; imagined what it might be like.

It didn’t matter anyway, because he _had_ done this. Maybe not with a thought, but his actions on Malachor had caused it. No matter which way he looked at it, Kanan was blind because of him. 

On the entry ramp, just before he and Hera entered the Ghost, Kanan stopped abruptly. Ezra watched Hera turn to him, ask him what was wrong. Kanan shook his head, then turned to face Ezra. If his eyes had not been bandaged — if he had been able to see — Ezra was certain that he would have been looking directly at him.

Ezra froze, unable to decide what to do; whether to say something or remain silent, whether to go over to Kanan or whether to flee.  
The decision was taken away from him a moment later, when Kanan turned back to Hera, and they continued on their way.


	7. Chapter 7

A knock on the door of his quarters snapped Ezra to panicked alertness. He grabbed the Sith holocron from the bunk in front of him and stared wildly around the room, trying to find somewhere to hide it. Nobody would know what it was, but they didn’t need to. If someone mentioned it to Kanan, he would almost definitely recognize it from the description.

Although, maybe he wouldn’t. He had other things on his mind right now…

He quickly stashed the holocron underneath the cuddly tooka that the med droid had given him the day before, and pushed the toy to the bottom corner of his bunk where it would be less noticeable.

“Yeah?” he called.

When the door didn’t immediately open, Ezra allowed himself a moment to reassess the hiding place. The tooka was new, and that meant that it would stand out, people would notice it, ask questions about it. If whoever was at the door decided to pick it up, or even just touch it, they would almost definitely notice the holocron underneath.

Anyway, he didn’t want to keep the tooka where people could see it either. He didn’t want to have to put up with the endless jokes Zeb would make at his expense if he saw that Ezra had something like that.

He hesitated. He wanted to move both the tooka and the holocron out of sight, but if he did, the door might open while he was looking for a better hiding place.

He would have to leave them where they were, and hope for the best.

“Come in,” he said, a little louder this time. He jumped down from his bunk and headed to the door to open it. It had to be Sabine. Hera had spent the morning with Kanan, but now she was off overseeing the setting up of the base. As far as Ezra knew, Zeb was out on the base too, but if he was back early, he wouldn’t knock on his own door. And since he seemed to think he owned the ship and everything on it, Chopper wouldn’t have bothered to knock either.

When Sabine continued not to open the door, Ezra pressed the button himself. The door slid open and he was shocked to find Kanan standing on the other side.

As far as Ezra knew, Kanan hadn’t left his room in days, not since he had returned to the ship from the med center. He was the last person Ezra had expected to find on the other side of the door.

At least now he didn’t have to worry about anybody seeing the holocron…

He cringed at the thought and pushed it away, then turned his attention to Kanan.

Kanan’s fingertips were touching the wall to the right of the door where he had, presumably, been searching for the button to open it. The bandage he was wearing was thinner, covering less of his face than the last time Ezra had seen him. Ezra didn’t know whether he had been forced to make the journey to the med center and back again for that, or whether the droid had been on the ship.

His hair was tied back in a very loose ponytail that allowed stray strands of hair to escape from the band and hang around his face. He hadn’t shaved, and the shadow of a beard was beginning to cover his cheeks and upper lip. Ezra could see that he was still in pain from the tension in his lower jaw, though his eyes were completely covered.

“Ezra?” he asked.

Ezra realized with a jolt that Kanan didn’t know whether he was there. Sure, he probably assumed that he was, but he didn’t  _know_. For all he knew, it could have been Zeb that opened the door. Although, probably not, because the smell would give him away. Plus, Zeb probably wouldn’t be stupid enough to just stand there staring.

“Uh, hey,” Ezra stammered.

Kanan visibly relaxed. “Mind if I come in?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ezra said, then shook his head. That wasn’t right, he  _didn’t_  mind. “I mean no,” he said, but that wasn’t right anymore either, because now it sounded like he was telling Kanan that he couldn’t come in. “I mean, I don’t mind,” he clarified. He stepped back, out of Kanan’s way. “Come in,” he added.

Just like the last time Ezra had seen him, one hand checked the space ahead of him as he stepped through the door. Without breaking contact, his other hand moved from the wall outside, to the doorframe, to the wall inside. It remained there like an anchor, not only keeping him in place but allowing him to keep track of exactly where he was in the room. Ezra recognized what he was doing; he had done the same thing himself, when he had been practicing.

He felt a pang of sympathy mixed with sadness and guilt. This hadn’t been supposed to happen.

The med droid had told Kanan the same day he had released him to go home that his sight couldn’t be saved. Hera had gathered the rest of the crew together in the lounge to tell them later the same day. The whole thing had reminded Ezra in an uncomfortable way of the time he had shared his own news in that same room.

“So, uh…” Ezra said. “Sorry I haven’t been by to see… visit you. I just…” he folded his arms tightly. The others had been. Hera almost constantly when she wasn’t working, Sabine and Zeb at least once a day. He wasn’t sure about Chopper, but he had been by at least once. Ezra had wanted to. But every time he tried, he found himself hesitating outside the door, imagining how the conversation might go. “Sorry,” he said again. It came out a broken whisper.

“It’s okay,” Kanan told him.

It wasn’t okay. “I was going to come,” Ezra told him. He really had been. He just wasn’t sure when. What had happened had been his fault, and he hadn’t been ready to see the result of his actions. Not only that, but he hadn’t thought  _Kanan_  would be ready.

“Mind if I sit down?” Kanan asked.

“Uh, sure, of course.” Ezra looked around the room, and located the single chair underneath the desk that he and Zeb rarely used. One of Ezra’s outfits hung over the back of it, and a Stormtrooper helmet lay on the seat. Ezra quickly grabbed them and placed them out of the way on his bunk. He turned back to Kanan to find him already taking a hesitant step away from the wall, in the direction of the desk.

“You were right,” Kanan told him through gritted teeth. His hand moved through the air again and he took another step, smaller this time. “Learning this and using if for real aren’t the same thing.”

  
Ezra tensed. He should help. Maybe Kanan would refuse, maybe he wanted to do it for himself, but Ezra should at least offer. Only, he didn’t know  _how_  to help. He had seen Hera leading Kanan back to the Ghost with Kanan holding onto her arm, but for the few short steps across the room, that wouldn’t work. They would be at their destination almost before they started. The only thing he could think of was to take Kanan by the arm and show him where to go, and he couldn’t do that, because he could imagine exactly how disconcerting it would feel to be pulled around like that.

Kanan took another step. He was going in the right direction but so hesitantly that Ezra could barely stand to watch. Finally, when he was too far away to maintain contact with the wall, Kanan’s hand dropped away, leaving him unanchored and cast adrift in the center of the room. Ezra sucked in his bottom lip and chewed it hard. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time  _he_  had made the short journey across the room without sight; he had hated every step. Kanan couldn’t even remove his blindfold at the end of it.

“Try…” Ezra said, then stopped.

It was too late. Kanan paused his careful journey across the room, turned in Ezra’s direction and waited for him to continue.

Ezra took a breath. “Just an idea, but try using the Force to check the ground in front of you,” he said. “Instead of trying to sense the whole room, I mean. You know, like bli… kinda like my aunt used her cane.” It was something he had been trying out, and it wasn’t ideal, there were a lot of things it wouldn’t work for, but as long as you paid attention, it could get you across a room without having to worry too much about tripping.

Kanan hesitated before he took another step, a little more confident this time. He nodded.

“Or, I could just help you,” Ezra added. “I mean, if you want.”

Kanan shook his head as he took another few steps, then reached out with his hand to find the back of the chair. He located it on the second attempt, checked the seat with his hand to make sure it was clear, and sat down carefully.

Ezra relaxed the moment Kanan reached his destination. He sat too, on the lower bunk, and stared down at his feet. Silence descended as Ezra tried to think of something — anything — to say. Nothing came to mind; nothing that didn’t relate to Kanan’s injury. He didn’t want to talk about that, not if he didn’t have to. He doubted that Kanan would want to dwell on it either. That was one of the reasons he had avoided visiting in the first place.

Kanan broke the silence. “I heard you went to see the med droid,” he said. “Did he tell you anything?”

If Hera had told Kanan about that, Ezra was sure she would also have told him the outcome of the visit. He shook his head, then remembered that the gesture was meaningless to Kanan now. “Nothing I didn’t know already. It’s what I thought.”

It had been hard to hear. Hera had been the one that had insisted that he go. She had gone with him, sat through the vision tests and the genetic test, and held his hand so tightly during the diagnosis that Ezra thought she might cut off the circulation to his fingers. It was probably for the best. If she hadn’t been holding onto him, he thought he might have run away.

“I’ve probably got about three years,” he added quietly. “Before… you know.”

Kanan pressed his lips together as he processed this new information. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t have gone with you.”

Ezra shrugged. “You were kinda busy at the time. Anyway, it’s not like I didn’t already know what he was going to say.”

“It’s different though, knowing something for sure,” Kanan told him.

He was right. But then he would be; his news must have been even harder to hear.

Ezra folded his arms and tried not to think about it. There was nothing he could do about it, and he had already known. At least now, for some reason, he had a tooka to hide his holocron underneath. “So, the med droid’s kinda weird,” he said, mostly to change the subject.

The corners of Kanan’s lips curved into the smallest smile and he winced as he agitated the damaged skin around his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I think someone forgot to program him with a bedside manner.”

“And I know he’s an eye specialist, but does he seem to be  _really_  into eye conditions?”

Kanan shrugged. “Not mine. He said it was boring.”

“What?”

“Well, he didn’t actually say ‘boring’. It was something like, ‘The injury, while interesting in cause, is disappointingly mundane in effect,” Kanan effected an odd, stilted tone that did actually sound a little like the droid.

Ezra stared. “You’re kidding,” he said.

Kanan shook his head again, a little more expressively this time. The hint of a smile briefly returned. “So at least you’re interesting.”

Ezra slumped. “I don’t  _want_  to be interesting,” he said. “I want things to go back to how they used to be.” How they had been a few months earlier, before he had ever heard of Sacul Syndrome, or of Malachor.

“Yeah,” Kanan sighed. “I know.”

He supposed Kanan must feel the same way, and suddenly he wished he hadn’t said anything. He swiped angrily at tears that were beginning to well up in his eyes, almost glad that Kanan wouldn’t be able to see them.

“Hey,” Kanan said. Ezra looked up to find that somehow without him noticing, Kanan had gotten up and found his way back across the room to stand next to Ezra. His hand hovered in the air for a few moments, moving left and right, up and down, until it finally found Ezra’s shoulder. His fingers gripped hard. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, and he sounded so certain that Ezra could almost believe him.

Almost, but not quite. 

“What are we supposed to do now?” Ezra asked.

Kanan folded his arms. “We start lessons again,” he said. “As soon as possible. It’ll be… a little different now, but…” he stopped, shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“No, Kanan, we won’t,” Ezra said. “That’s  _kinda_  the problem.”

He froze. He hadn’t meant to say that. It had just slipped out, and now it was too late to take it back.

“I… Sorry,” he said. He looked at Kanan, trying to gauge his reaction.

Kanan gave another small smile. “Don’t be,” he said. “I have a feeling we’re going to need a sense of humor to get through this.”

Ezra relaxed, just slightly. Kanan was right about that, but Ezra wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to laugh about it.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about teaching me,” he said. “Not right now, anyway.” Kanan needed to look after himself, his need was more immediate. It would be a waste to use time he could spend on himself teaching Ezra things that he didn’t need to know yet.

“Do you know what I’ve been doing the past few days?” Kanan asked.

Not shaving, that was for sure. Beyond that, Ezra didn’t know. “Meditating?” he guessed.

Kanan shook his head. “I haven’t been doing anything. I’ve been laying on my bed feeling sorry for myself for most of the past three days. I’ve been trying to think of something to do, but I didn’t know how to do anything. So I just lay there thinking about how useless I felt.”

Ezra looked away as a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. It was his fault. Kanan was feeling that way because of him.

“But today, I decided it was enough,” Kanan continued. “I told you I was going to help you. I said it didn’t matter whether you could see or not, you could still be a Jedi. I said we were going to figure it out, and we are. That’s what gave me a reason to get out of bed. Besides, what kind of an example would I be setting if I carried on down that path?”

Ezra didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. Kanan’s reaction was understandable, and he knew for a fact that if  _he_  had been the one injured at Malachor, he would still be laying around wallowing in self-pity.

“Kanan, I…” he began. “I said some things. Before. When you were trying to help me. I… thought some things too. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t want this…” he stopped, unable to continue, and pulled in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” he added.

Kanan shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But he had. He had made so many mistakes.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, barely even thinking about what he was doing, he found himself on his feet with his arms wrapped tightly around Kanan. He felt Kanan stiffen in surprise at the unexpected embrace and realized a second too late that he should have been more gentle, maybe given a little warning, but Kanan recovered quickly. He returned the hug, and for a moment, Ezra felt safe. For a moment, he could forget everything that had happened and was happening, and imagine that the universe was as it should be.

But only for a moment. Then it was over, and they were standing in Ezra’s quarters, Kanan’s face partially obscured by a bandage covering his damaged eyes.

“We’re going to be fine,” Kanan said. “You know that, right?”

Ezra wanted to believe it, but he just couldn’t. He shook his head. “How?”

“Because we’re going to help each other. The thing you showed me just now, using the Force like a cane, it’s different to what we’ve been trying to do, and it’s probably something I wouldn’t have thought of, but it worked. That’s what we’re going to do. It’s not going to be about me teaching you anymore — it never  _should_  have been that — we’re going to teach each other. We’re going to figure it out together.”

It was almost the same thing Kanan had told him before, when he had been trying to help him. Neither of them knew the answer, they didn’t know for certain what would, and what wouldn’t work, but they were going to learn together. It was the same promise, but it felt different now. If felt true.

Ezra hated it.

He took a breath and exhaled slowly. He hated it, but he could work with it. “Okay,” he said.


	8. Chapter 8

The Sith holocron wasn’t heavy. Ezra held it in one hand, fingers loosely curved around its angular shape, and moved it up and down. It  _should_  be heavy. The secrets and knowledge contained within it felt as though they should have their own weight.

At the other side of the room, Kanan was meditating. Ezra should have been doing the same thing, but his mind was elsewhere today and he couldn’t concentrate. That wasn’t unusual, but today there was more too it.

“Hey, Kanan?” he said.

Kanan didn’t bother to open his eyes. He turned his head just a little, to face in Ezra’s direction, frowning like he already knew something was wrong. He probably did; he was more open to the Force than usual when he meditated, and he could probably sense it. Even if he wasn’t sensing it through the Force, he would be able to hear it in Ezra’s voice.

Ezra got to his feet and swallowed nervously. Against his will, his fingers gripped the holocron a little tighter as something inside him fought to keep possession of the thing. He needed to do this, he knew that, but it was going to be difficult. The knowledge within the holocron had helped him, and he wasn’t ready to give it up. Not when there was still so much more that he could learn from it.

Maybe he could just keep it a little while longer. A week, or a month. Just long enough for him to learn a few more…

No.

He needed to stop. He had known from the start that it was evil, and he had opened it anyway. He had told himself that it would be just one time, and then he had done it again. And again. And every time he had, he had felt it tempt him further down the path to the dark side. One day, it would try to convince him to turn his back on the light side completely, and when the time came, he didn’t know whether he was going to be able to say no.

There were things that it could offer him in return that would be very difficult to turn down.

Kanan looked genuinely worried now. “What is it?” he asked.

The holocron was closed now, but Ezra could still imagine the voice within it, whispering at the back of his mind. It spoke to him in moments of weakness. It reminded him of how he couldn’t protect his friends and his family. It spoke of his failures; of the times when he had let them down in the past because he had been too weak. Unless he grew stronger, he would do it again. The dark side could help him.

It had taught him new ways to use the Force; things that Kanan had never even hinted were possible. As he had tried them, he had felt himself growing in strength, but he had felt a new kind of hopelessness growing within him too. It was different to the one that he had experienced when he had learned that he was going to lose his sight, and different to the one that he had felt after Malachor. It was an emptiness that longed to be filled.

He had felt his anger and his hatred growing every time he had tapped into them to increase his strength, and at night when he lay in bed surrounded by a darkness so complete that he could see nothing at all, they were eating him up inside.

But there was more than that. So much more.

The dark side could help him to see.

At first, the holocron had only hinted at the possibility. It had tempted him with little comments designed to grab at his attention, make him curious, and then it had waited for him to ask for more.

What it had eventually told him had repulsed him, made him shudder in horror. It had made him want to destroy the holocron just to keep it from telling him  _how_  to do what it spoke of, but he hadn’t. As much as the stories it told him frightened and repelled him, they tempted him too.

It had preyed on his fears, and then told him that it could take them away.

“Ezra?”

Kanan was on his feet now too. Ezra could hear the worry in his voice, but there was a hint of frustration there too. He knew something was wrong, but he probably also suspected that if he had been able to see, he would be better able to understand what was happening.

He was right.

Ezra glanced down guiltily at the holocron in his hand. He wouldn’t be holding it so blatantly if Kanan could see. He was using Kanan’s blindness to his own advantage, and he didn’t want to do that.

Even if it was only out of fear that people would do the same to him one day.

Ezra took a deep breath. He loosened his grip on the holocron slightly and moved it around in his hand, allowing it to roll over his palm and his fingers. He could do this. He could give up the holocron. He didn’t want what it could give him; the price was too high.

“Ezra, if there’s something you n…”

“Catch?” Ezra said. Without allowing himself any more time to think about it, or to talk himself out of it, he tossed the holocron in Kanan’s direction.

Acting on instinct, as Ezra had known he would, Kanan used the Force to find the object, and snatched it out of the air. Ezra watched him anxiously. For a moment, Kanan didn’t react, he simply held the holocron in his hand, fingers tracing the surface, trying to identify it.

Ezra could see the exact moment he worked it out. His eyes, closed until that point, opened wide. His face was painted with realization and horror, and the same emotions assaulted Ezra through the Force. His fingers stilled, then pulled away as though they didn’t want to even touch the surface of the thing, leaving the holocron balanced in the center of his palm. For a moment, Ezra thought that he might drop it to the ground.

Kanan opened his mouth, beginning to speak.

Ezra took a step forward. “I… was hoping you could get rid of it for me,” he said quickly, before Kanan could say anything. “Or keep it somewhere safe, somewhere I can’t find it? I don’t know, just… Just whatever you do, don’t open it, okay?”

Kanan  _couldn’t_  open it. To open it, you needed to be able to use the dark side. You needed to be able to think like a Sith. Ezra knew that by asking him not to do it, he had as good as admitted that  _he_  had. 

He held his breath, waiting for a response.

Kanan’s hand dropped to his side, his fingers tightening again around the holocron. “Thank you,” he said. “For trusting me.”

Ezra wrapped his arms tightly around his body and nodded. He hadn’t had any choice but to trust Kanan; he needed the holocron gone. He needed it to be somewhere that he couldn’t get to it. In the future, as his sight grew worse and eventually faded completely, maybe the price that had seemed too high at first would begin to feel worth it. Over time, the temptation to give in to the dark side would only grow stronger.

Even now, he feared he was never going to be free of it.

“What are you going to do?” he asked. His voice came out quiet and shaken.

Kanan turned away before he answered. “Make sure it’s somewhere it can’t hurt anybody,” he said.

“And what…” Ezra began, but stopped. He had been going to ask what Kanan was going to do about him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“I’ll be back later,” Kanan told him as he exited the room. “Stay here. Keep working on sensing with the Force. I think tonight would be a good time to go for that walk around the base that we talked about.”

Relief mixed with a deep sense of loss as the door closed and both Kanan and the holocron disappeared from sight. Relief, because the holocron had been wrong; Kanan hadn’t rejected him for his mistakes, but loss, because the holocron could have helped him, and now it was gone. No matter what he did or said, Kanan was never going to let him near it again. He hadn’t  _wanted_  to use it, but he could have changed his mind. Now, that option was lost to him

And Kanan had chosen this moment, as he was still reeling from that loss, to drag him outside into the base.

It was the one lesson that Ezra had been resisting, putting off, making excuses every time Kanan suggested it. He didn’t want to be out there. He didn’t want people to see him struggling, and he didn’t want to experience the panic that he knew he would the moment he found himself cast adrift with no familiar walls and surfaces to ground him. And until now, Kanan had been allowing him to resist. Kanan had been outside alone before. Only short trips along routes that he knew well, but he had done it. Ezra had never left the Ghost blindfolded. He had never even closed his eyes on unfamiliar ground.

Was Kanan punishing him? Forcing him to face his fears in retaliation for the holocron?

No. That was the holocron’s words, imagined in the back of his mind. Kanan wouldn’t do that, and Ezra knew it.

He pulled his blindfold from his pocket and tied it around his eyes, then reached out into the Force. Kanan wasn’t punishing him. Far from it. He was answering the question that Ezra hadn’t dared to ask. He was telling him that he wasn’t giving up on him, that nothing had changed. That they were going to carry on as planned.

And while once, the idea of exploring the base without his sight had filled him with dread and fear, now he almost felt relieved.

He wondered how long that would last once they were actually out there…


	9. Chapter 9

In the early days, after Malachor, it had surprised Ezra how little the loss of his sight had affected Kanan’s ability with a lightsaber. While he had struggled at first to find his way around an unfamiliar room, or perform normal, everyday tasks, the moment he activated his blade, all hesitancy disappeared. Whether he was performing katas and practicing alone or sparring with Ezra, Ezra could see almost no difference in his master’s skill level.

It was as though he could somehow see by the light of the blade.

Kanan had laughed when Ezra had said that. Not a real laugh, more like a smile and a quick exhalation of air through his nose, but it was obvious that the comment had amused him, and Ezra had wondered why. 

Kanan had shaken his head and deactivated his blade. “Something I said once,” he had explained. “When I was a youngling, at the Temple. I asked what was the point in learning to use a lightsaber blindfolded because nowhere was so dark the blade wouldn’t give you enough light to see by. It turned out I was wrong.”

Ezra had winced at the explanation. It wasn’t funny, and he didn’t know how Kanan could have laughed about it. Overcome by the urge to see, he had deactivated his own lightsaber and pulled off the blindfold that he had been using during the sparring match.

“We used to train with our vision obscured all the time as younglings,” Kanan had continued. “But it wasn’t about learning how to fight blind, that was just a byproduct; it was to teach us to trust in the Force. It’s more reliable than your other senses; your eyes can deceive you.”

Ezra had known that. Kanan had told him before, back when they both had perfect vision and no idea that anything was going to change, but this was the first time Ezra had heard it in some time. He repeated the words in his mind, holding onto them, trying to find comfort in them. But that wasn’t why Kanan had said it. He wasn’t trying to reassure him, it was simply a statement of fact.

He had known, too, that Kanan had done that kind of training. He had made no secret of the fact that he had called upon the lessons he had been taught at the Temple for inspiration when he began to teach Ezra. What he hadn’t realized until now, was the  _extent_  of Kanan’s training. Blindfolded, once he had gotten over the problem of balance without his sight to ground him, Ezra had no problem going through the motions of the basic stances and katas that Kanan had taught him, and he wasn’t bad at deflecting objects thrown in his direction, but ask him to face an opponent, even in a friendly sparring match, and he was completely and totally out of his depth.

But Kanan, newly blinded, had faced Maul and escaped with his life.

Looking uncomfortable, Kanan had clipped his lightsaber to his belt before folding his arms and turning away from Ezra so that his face was hidden. “I… hated it,” he had added. “Not being able to see, I mean. It made me feel vulnerable. I think that’s why I didn’t use that method more often with you. I should have.”

That part was new; something Kanan had never told him before. Honestly, Ezra had never enjoyed it much either. He had hesitated then, caught between saying something to try to reassure Kanan, and steering the topic of conversation as far away from the current one as he could. If they had known what was going to happen, they would probably  _both_  have done a lot of things differently. There was nothing they could do about it now. Nothing except make up for lost time.

Training as a whole meant something different now than it had done before. It wasn’t only about lightsaber practice, or using the Force. They were still a part of it, but there was so much more now too.

Training meant slowly but surely learning how to find their way around the base; a place that in its current state, Kanan had never seen and Ezra was still getting used to. It meant expanding on the Force techniques that they had already developed to allow them to sense the world around them, improving them, using them over and over until it became second nature. It meant hours and hours spent practicing with the tactile alphabet that Sabine had brought to them, learning how to recognize each letter by touch, and then how to read whole words and sentences.

Much to Ezra’s frustration, training now also meant a lot more meditation than it had before, concentrating on strengthening their connections to the Force.

There was more to it than that, though. So much of what they were learning how to do didn’t involve the Force at all. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Ezra, who as a child had observed the methods that his aunt had used to compensate for her blindness, but for some reason it had. For a time, he had been fooling himself into believing that eventually, with enough practice, the Force would be able to compensate for everything.

He was now realizing that wasn’t the case.

Training now also meant Kanan talking through problems that he had encountered, mundane tasks that neither of them had even considered before, that had suddenly become difficult or impossible, and the two of them working together to find a solution.

“You know,” Ezra said one evening as they printed out tactile labels for items in the kitchen cabinets. “I’m pretty sure figuring out how to shave without looking would be one of the  _least_  difficult things we’ve done recently.”

Kanan raised a hand and ran his fingertips through the beard that covered his lower face. He smiled and shook his head. “That’s one of the reasons I stopped shaving at first, but it’s grown on me now.”

“Yeah,” Ezra said. “That’s kinda my point.”

Kanan sighed pointedly. “I  _meant_  I like it now.”

“That’s only because you don’t have to look at it,” Ezra told him. “I do.”

“Not for much longer,” Kanan retorted, then froze in apparent horror.

Ezra blinked, caught off-guard and momentarily unsure how to react. Ezra had been making comments like that for months, and getting away with it. Jokes and comments sometimes at his own expense, sometimes at Kanan’s, sometimes at both of them. It had become almost a reflex. This was the first time he had heard it from somebody else.

It felt weird.

He did the only thing he could, under the circumstances. He laughed. “Point,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Kanan told him. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, you’re not wrong,” Ezra said.

Kanan was still frowning. Ezra got it, he had said things that he regretted before now. It was refreshing, in a way, to hear somebody else do it instead.

“I know,” Kanan said, “but…”

“Seriously, don’t apologize. It’s about time someone else tried to make a joke around here. Sometimes I feel like I’m doing all the work. And talking of work, how’s that label coming?”

Kanan relaxed just slightly and got on with printing the next label.

As Ezra watched, he felt a smile spread across his face. What Kanan had said hadn’t been a joke, not a deliberate one anyway, but it had actually made him laugh, if only because it had taken him by surprise. As jokes went, he had heard worse.  He had  _made_  worse.

“The first time I said something like that was an accident too,” he said. Kanan knew that of course; he had been there. The second time had been an accident too, and the third. “But then I decided to stop worrying about it. I figured if I could make people laugh, maybe it’d make the whole thing start to feel more normal.”

“Did it work?”

“Nope.”

Kanan nodded like he had expected that answer.

“But at least I’m not beating myself up every time I make a joke anymore,” Ezra added. “Anyway, it still might work, especially if you’re going to do it too now.”

Kanan shook his head. “I’m not…” he began.

“Next time, say something in front of Hera,” Ezra suggested.

Hera in particular never seemed to relax. She was constantly on edge around both Kanan and Ezra in a way that Sabine and Zeb weren’t anymore. She watched Kanan, and sometimes Ezra too, like she was on the verge of helping, ready to spring into action if they needed anything. If Kanan noticed, he didn’t mention it, but to Ezra it felt stifling.  Nobody was comfortable with the situation yet, Ezra least of all, but he could sense Hera’s discomfort and that made his own worse. He hadn’t dared to make a joke around her yet, because he didn’t know how she would react.

Without even taking a moment to consider it, Kanan shook his head. “I’m not that crazy,” he told him.

So he had noticed. Ezra shrugged. “I just figured that coming from you, it might be easier for her to handle. She might even laugh. Or at least pretend to.”

If not, at least she would be mad at Kanan and not Ezra. He imagined she would forgive him more easily.

“Maybe Rex,” Kanan mused.

He was right, Rex would be better. He was the only person who had never walked on eggshells around them. He laughed when Ezra made a bad joke and he wasn’t even faking it. “Nah, too easy,” Ezra told him. “Is the label ready?”

Kanan finished the last letter and handed over the finished label. Ezra squinted at it in an attempt to see what was printed there. It was pointless; he already knew that his eyes were no longer capable of making out the tiny colorless bumps that made up the tactile alphabet. He still tried anyway, every time.

He gave up on reading the label visually, and ran the tip of his index finger slowly over the text, taking his time, checking each letter carefully. He frowned. “Uh, Kanan? Doesn’t this one say ‘sugar’?”

“Stop asking me what they say,” Kanan told him. “Start trusting yourself. You know what it says; you just read it.”

“Yeah, and it’s a good thing I did. I asked for one that said ‘jogan tea’.”

Kanan shrugged, apparently unbothered by his mistake. “We need to label the sugar too, don’t we?”

Not anymore, apparently. “Sure, but…” he began.

“I’m making sure you read them,” Kanan told him. “I don’t want you to stick the labels on upside down.” He paused. “Again.”

It had been one time, and he had noticed immediately. Ezra sighed pointedly. “Sure, I’ll just  _assume_  I read them right,” he said. “Just don’t blame me the next time you try to make caf and end up with a cup of watery gravy or something instead.”

Kanan laughed. “You wouldn’t do that,” he said.

“Not  _deliberately_ , no, but if you keep giving me the wrong labels on purpose…”

Of  _course_ , he wasn’t going to do it deliberately. Not only because it would be cruel and pointless, but also because it wouldn’t be long before Ezra needed to use the tactile labels too. He squinted at the sugar jar. Not long at all, judging by how difficult it was getting to make out the aurebesh printed on some of the containers they were labeling today.

That was a frightening thought. He glared at the text on the sugar jar as though it was somehow at fault, then gave in to the slightly vindictive urge to carefully stick the label over the text so that nobody else could read it either. It was a distinctive-looking enough container that he doubted anybody actually  _needed_  to read it, but it still made him feel better.

He didn’t mention to Kanan what he had done. Somehow, he doubted that he would approve.

“So, can I have the jogan tea label now?”

Kanan printed and handed over another label, far too short to be what Ezra had asked for. Ezra read the word ‘caf’, rolled his eyes, then stuck it on the correct jar without comment. Kanan waited, obviously expecting Ezra to say something. When he didn’t, Kanan printed another label, longer this time, and handed it over. Ezra checked it, stuck it on the tea, put the box away, and closed the cabinet door.

“That’s everything,” he said. Well, it was everything in that cabinet anyway, and that was all they had planned to do for now. There was still much more to label around the ship, and around the base, but that was a task for another day. “So, wanna do something else?” he asked.

“What did you have in mind?” Kanan’s lips quirked into a smile. “Meditation?”

Ezra made a face. Let Kanan get away with one joke at his expense and he was going to have to put up with them for the rest of his life. “I was thinking of something a bit less boring,” he said. “Did you know the mechanics have set up a racing track for the dokma?”

“Yeah. Rex mentioned it.” Kanan shook his head. “I hear they color-code the dokma so people can tell them apart.”

“Yeah, and we bet for rations and equipment and stuff. Someone even bet a helmet a couple of days ago, but I didn’t win it.”

Kanan nodded. “But I hear they color-code the dokma,” he repeated, a little more slowly. “And then people  _watch_  them race down the track.”

“‘Race’ might be a bit too strong a word, they more like… Oh.” He stopped, finally understanding what Kanan was trying to tell him.

“You go ahead,” Kanan told him. “I have plans with Hera tonight anyway.”

He was such an idiot. Of  _course_  Kanan wouldn’t be able to watch the race. He had  _known_  that. It had just taken him a little longer than it should to realize that a night of standing around not watching five creatures meander around a racing track might not be entertaining for him.

Or, soon, for Ezra.

He slumped against the wall, suddenly feeling very tired. Every day he found something else that he couldn’t do anymore, or thought of something that was going to get harder, or something that he was going to miss. He hated it. He hated everything about it.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel like going to the races anymore.

But he  _liked_  the races. He didn’t want to have to give them up. He didn’t want to spend the time he had left to enjoy them wondering how long it would be before he could no longer follow what was happening on the track. Plus, he had a pocket full of ration bars that he had been hoping to turn into a meiloorun for Hera’s birthday.

“Ezra, it’s fine,” Kanan told him. “Go.”

But it wasn’t fine. It  _already_  wasn’t fine. “I mixed up two of the colors the other night,” he admitted. 

He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time; he had put it down to not paying attention, then forgotten about it when he got swept up in the euphoria of having won the race when he thought he had lost. But that had been the start of it. That had probably been the first of many times that it would happen before he finally gave up and started to rely on others to tell him who had won. It was only going to get worse.

Kanan sighed deeply. He folded his arms and appeared to hesitate before he replied, like he was trying to think of the right thing to say. “Okay,” he said. “So what can you do about that? What would make it easier to tell them apart?”

Nothing. There was nothing he could do. It was only going to get worse.

“Are the colors too similar? Could they be changed? Or, what are the lights like out there? Maybe you could ask the engineers to make them a little brighter.”

Kanan was trying to do for Ezra what they did for Kanan when he ran into a problem; try to find a solution that would solve it. Ezra considered the suggestions. The colors were fine, it was his eyes that were at fault. He would probably have as much difficulty with two other colors as he had with blue and green. The lighting though; it was lit, but it wasn’t great. It could be better. “Maybe,” he said. It would be a temporary fix, but it would work for a time.

But that would only help him, not Kanan.

And after a while, it wouldn’t help him anymore either.

He forced a smile. “Mixing them up worked in my favor though,” he added. “Kinda. I thought I’d lost, then they announced blue was the winner, not green.”

“Great,” Kanan told him. “Leave everything how it is, maybe it’ll happen again.”

Ezra sighed. It  _would_  happen again. Asking for better lighting wouldn’t stop that, it would only delay it.

“They always announce which color won, though,” he added. “So maybe the answer is not to look, or not to trust what I see. Just wait for the announcement.”

Kanan frowned and Ezra thought he felt a flicker of sadness through the Force, but he nodded. “It’s certainly going to work better in the long-run,” he agreed.

Not to mention, it didn’t mean asking for any special treatment; he didn’t like doing that.

The races weren’t really races anyway. A race usually involved more than one person or thing trying to get from the start to the finish. The dokma didn’t do that. They didn’t try to get anywhere. They didn’t even know they were supposed to be in a race, so instead of trying to reach the finish line, they meandered in random directions, crossing from one lane to another, or turning around and going the wrong way. Sometimes they stopped completely and went to sleep.

Most people didn’t really watch the race. They were just there to hang out, place bets, and have a drink. The fact that a race was happening nearby didn’t even really matter most of the time.

“It might not be so bad,” he said. “Not being able to see the race, I mean.”

He didn’t need to see to choose a dokma either. It wasn’t possible to tell by looking at them which one would be most likely to wander in the right direction; it was pure luck.

There were things that he would miss, like the end part of the race when people began to notice one of the dokma approaching the finish line. Awareness would spread through the crowd like a ripple, gathering momentum as people realized those around them had shifted their attention to the track, and they too started to watch intently, or shout encouragement. He wouldn’t be a part of that. Not really.  
  
Mostly the shouting didn’t make any difference; the dokma didn’t notice. Apart from one particularly hilarious night when someone screaming loudly at a creature inches from the finish line scared it with his volume and it retreated inside its shell for long enough for another dokma to wander over the line.

It wouldn’t be the same not to see things like that happen, to have to hear about them second hand from someone else. But it would eventually be unavoidable. He would have to get used to it, or stop going, and he didn’t want to stop going.

“It should be fine,” he said, not completely sure whether he was speaking to Kanan or to himself. 

He pushed aside a slight flutter of nerves at the thought of what he was about to do. It  _would_  be fine. It would be a little frustrating not to be able to see what was happening on the track, but he would get used to that. Being around large crowds with his eyes covered was disorienting, but he had done it before, and it was something else that he was going to have to get used to.

Honestly, the worst part was probably going to be trying to explain to Hobbie and Wedge why he had decided to show up wearing a blindfold.

He reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out the strip of fabric he kept on him for training. He could test it out, see how it went, then he and Kanan could think of a work-around for any unanticipated problems, then try it again.

He tied the blindfold around his face, covering his eyes, then adjusted it until it was as comfortable as he could make it. He took a deep breath to calm himself, marveling at the fact that the rising panic was gone. A few months ago, he couldn’t have done this. He couldn’t even have contemplated it.

It was going to be different when he had no choice, when he  _wasn’t_  wearing it and he still couldn’t see. In some ways, the blindfold was comforting, its presence a reminder that when he took it off, he would find the world exactly where he had left it.

Through the Force, he could feel Kanan’s surprise as he realized what Ezra was doing.

“You don’t have to do that now,” he said.

But he did have to. If not now — if not before he needed it — then after, when he did. And it was going to be so much worse then.

“I know,” he said. “I’ll let you know how it went tomorrow.”

He headed for the door, and out into the base, leaving Kanan behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are loved, as always.


End file.
